


A Winning Hand

by sara_holmes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint and Bucky team up, M/M, Of a sorts, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Sacrificing Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Strip Poker, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Teasing, Threesome, all the sex, dicks everywhere, slight dom/sub themes and thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Steve finds it hard enough working with Bucky these days, and dealing with Clint as well is possibly more than he can handle. He’s managed so far to keep them apart, and for good reason, but it seems his luck has finally run out."</p><p>Or, the one where Steve comes home feeling cranky and finds not one but two irritating assholes in his apartment, drinking his beer and touching all of his stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winning Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Unrepentant porn. I'm ashamed. Not my usual fare, because there is next to no plot and oh that's right it's complete and utter filth. Don't look at me.

Steve knows there’s someone in his apartment before he even opens the door. It’s not exactly a challenge though; he can hear music coming from inside, footsteps as someone walks across the floorboards. What he doesn’t know is who it is. If it were someone meaning to cause him harm then they’d be a hell of a lot more discreet than they’re currently being, which narrows down his options to people he knows. 

He stands outside the door, keys in hand and listening carefully. It’s been a  _ long  _ day, and he’s just driven his bike for forty minutes in the rain. His jeans are damp, his head throbs with a phantom ache that comes from too much staring at paperwork for too long, and he just wants to get in and pass out before he has to get up and do it all again.

Nevermind that having company once in a while might not be too terrible, seeing as he usually spends every night alone. It aches like broken bones, like a healed over bullet wound. 

He’s used to it. 

He hears a laugh, muted through the reinforced wood of his front door, and then his brows shoot up as he recognizes the voice. He doesn’t hesitate a moment longer; he unlocks the door and walks in, kicking it shut behind him even as his heart twists unhappily. 

“It’s Tuesday, you are supposed to be in therapy,” he calls over the music , some modern rock that he isn't a particular fan of. Somewhere in his memory he recalls a playlist that Clint made for him, one that was nowhere near as good as the one Sam had made but infinitely better than the ones Tony and Natasha had put together. He’s still not sure when the making him playlists thing became a competition, though he does know that there’s an awful lot of money riding on it. 

“Moved it to Thursday,” Bucky’s voice calls back, coming closer. “Shrink had to go talk to some SHIELD agent. Priority, apparently.”

“You are a priority.” Steve frowns as he sets the case that holds his shield down against the wall, before bending to unlace his boots.

“She just got back from Sierra Leone with both feet blown off and her partner blown up,” Bucky replies. “That’s a priority.”

Steve winces. “Point taken,” he says. “Though I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to know that,” he adds as he kicks his boots off. He turns to talk to Bucky but closes his mouth in exasperation as he watches Bucky’s eyes flick up to his face from where they had been staring before.

“Bucky,” he says, warning in his voice.

Bucky just gives him a look. “You were the one who bent over. You know you coulda got your boots off crouching down.”

“Don’t,” Steve says, warning in his tone. “We’ve talked about this.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “ _ You’ve _ talked about this.”

“I’m not changing my mind,” Steve says mildly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Why’re you here, anyway?”

Bucky splays his metal hand over his heart. “Can’t a fella break into his best pal’s apartment to drink his beer anymore?”

“No,” Steve says. “A fella can climb back out of the window he broke in through and leave his best pal to sleep.”

Bucky pulls a face. “You work too hard.”

“Not having that conversation again,” Steve says, and pushes away from the wall and heads towards the lounge.

“Are there  _ any  _ conversations you’re willing to have?” Bucky calls after him.

“Hmm, maybe the one about you getting out of my apartment so I can-”

Steve stops short as he rounds the corner, stomach lurching like he’s missed a step. He bites back a curse.

“Evening, Cap.”

Clint grins at him from where he’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, bright light spilling from behind him. For some reason he’s wearing grey suit pants and a white button down, a black tie pulled loose through his collar. The jacket of the suit is tossed carelessly over the back of the couch nearby. 

_ Damn.  _ Steve should have known that Bucky wasn’t alone - he’d heard the laughter and assumed it was at the television or something. There’s a deck of cards scattered over the coffee table, and matchsticks everywhere, and Steve rapidly concludes that they’ve been there for a while. Fuck. Frankly, he’d rather walk straight back out the door and go and deal with more paperwork than actually deal with Clint and Bucky being in the same place, let alone in his goddamn apartment-

“Beer?” Clint offers, pointing back towards the kitchen. “The guy that lives here has got loads.”

“Why-” Steve begins, falters as Bucky edges past him and wanders lazily over to the couch, flopping down onto it and propping his feet up on the coffee table. Steve clenches his jaw, does his best to ignore Bucky.

“Okay. I’m gonna need some sort of explanation here,” Steve asks. Mild panic is settling in his stomach, because it’s hard enough working with Bucky these days, and dealing with Clint as well is possibly more than he can handle. He’s managed so far to keep them apart, and for good reason, but it seems his luck has finally run out. 

“You have the best beer,” Bucky says, like that’s good enough. “Though no poker chips.”

“I’m gonna get you a beer,” Clint says decisively. “Take a seat, Cap.”

“You can’t offer me a seat in my own damn apartment-” Steve says, but Clint is already gone, and Steve feels the strange sense of panic rising. He glances at Bucky and then goes after Clint, walking into the kitchen.

“You have like eight types of beer,” Clint says, head almost in the refrigerator. “Who needs eight types of beer?”

Steve pulls Clint back by his shoulder and shuts the fridge. “You can’t be here,” Steve says in an undertone.

“Well, we already ordered pizza and I’m definitely not leaving before it gets here,” Clint says, glances down to where Steve’s palm is pressed against his chest. “Lighten up.”

“I am not-” Steve begins, and hurriedly pulls his hand away from Clint’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath. “Clint. Please.”

Clint cocks his head, looks at him curiously. “What’s the problem?”

“I-” Steve begins, looks over his shoulder to the doorway. “Look. Bucky - me and Bucky,” he tries. “Before I was - before I was frozen.”

Clint’s brows go up. “He the one that taught you that trick?”

Steve feels a flush rise in the back of his neck. “You can’t be here,” he repeats, low and urgent. 

“I’m not just going to jump you,” Clint says dismissively. “He might, though.”

“What?” Steve asks, too loud. He lowers his voice. “What has he said to you-?”

Clint just shrugs. “Nothing.”

“ _ Clint _ -”

“Clint, bring me another beer!” Bucky shouts from the lounge, and Steve takes an automatic step back away from Clint, heart somewhere up in his throat.

“Got it,” Clint calls back, not taking his eyes from Steve’s. He re-opens the fridge and pulls out two beers, pressing one into Steve’s chest. Steve reaches automatically to take it, and Clint elbows the fridge shut before wandering back through to the lounge. 

Swearing under his breath, Steve tries to collect himself and follows. “Guys, I’ve had a hell of a day,” Steve says, rubbing at the back of his neck and watching with despair as Clint slides onto the other couch. “Any chance you can take poker night somewhere else?”

“We brought poker night here for you,” Bucky says, and the soft light from the lamp plays over his face in a way that makes Steve struggle to remember why he’s staying away. “Come on, Steve. Sit your ass down.”

“Come join us,” Clint says, and oh yes,  _ that’s  _ the reason why. Steve watches as Clint holds out his beer towards Bucky, who obliges and leans over to pull the cap off with his metal fingers. “I’m beating this asshole straight.”

“Why so worried?” Bucky asks, and there’s a dare in his eyes that Steve really does not want to see right now. “Worried Clint’s gonna win the shirt off of your back?”

“Not likely,” Steve says, though he still doesn’t make a move. There are so many ways in which this could go disastrously wrong, and part of him - the part he usually ignores - aches to move closer, though he’s struggling to work out who it is he wants to step towards. 

“Come on,” Clint repeats. “You kick us out and you’ll spend the evening alone and brooding over whatever’s pissed you off today.”

“You two have pissed me off,” Steve says, though his resolve is weakening. “You broke into my apartment.”

“Well then we need to be here for you to glare at,” Clint says, and he grins. “You can’t tell us off if we’re not here.”

“If you weren’t here you wouldn’t need telling off,” Steve sighs, but he unfolds his arms and steps over. He sits down on the couch next to Clint, and as he does Bucky extends a leg and nudges Steve with his foot. 

“Beer,” he says, and Steve holds out the beer bottle towards him, allowing him to flick the cap off. The beer is cold and very welcome, but there’s not a chance in hell of Steve properly relaxing and enjoying it until he’s worked out what these two are playing at.

“Let’s deal him in,” Bucky says, flicking the bottle cap over at Clint. Clint catches it easily and flicks it back; Bucky knocks it aside before it can hit him in the face and scowls as Clint sniggers at him. 

“Knock it off,” he says. “Give me your cards.”

“What? No, I was winning,” Clint complains, but he does pick up a handful of cards that were lying face down on the table. Bucky deftly gathers the deck up and shuffles it, before dealing out three new hands.

“Buck, no,” Steve starts to protest, but Clint is reaching for his hand, taking his wrist and turning his hand palm up, dropping a load of matchsticks into it.

“Relax,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough and slithers down Steve’s spine in the same way it always has done, but he can't -  _ won’t _ \- do anything about it because Bucky is sat right next to them. God. It’s all such a mess. He never meant for any of this - he never meant to fall into bed with Clint, just like he never meant to fall into bed with Bucky all the way back when. 

Though, when Bucky had reappeared, Steve had definitely meant it when he had  made the call to not fall in with either of them again, because his heart and head were a mess, and it wasn’t fair to screw either of them around.

In moments like this though, he almost resents that decision. His eyes drift from the play of Bucky’s metal fingers over the cards to Clint’s rolled up shirtsleeves, and he swallows thickly and tries to forget about how those arms feel wrapped around him. 

“What’s with the suit?” he asks quietly. “You in trouble again?”

“Nah,” Clint says, and he lets go of Steve’s wrist. “Just needed to look sharp for negotiating with Russian gangsters.”

“Now that sounds exactly like trouble,” Steve says.

“Hey Barton, stop hogging Captain America,” Bucky interrupts, and Steve tenses all over again. Clint looks away from him, raising challenging eyes to Bucky. 

“What you gonna do about it?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Stop,” Steve cuts in. Miraculously, they do. “I’ll play, if you behave.”

“We always behave,” Bucky says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes Steve feel like this situation is way out of his control. At least he’s sitting between them. He’s hoping that Clint doesn't continue to needle Bucky, because Bucky can go toe to toe with Steve on a good day, and at the end of the day Clint is only human. 

And there’s something brewing between them here that feels strange and tense and Steve doesn’t like it one bit. 

To his relief the pair do behave. The poker game continues, there’s much good-natured ribbing and jokes, pizza arrives and is quickly demolished, and after a while even Steve feels like he can relax. Maybe this actually is nothing more than two of his friends stopping by to hang out.

Well. If he could stop thinking about how each of them look thrown back on the sheets of his bed then it could be nothing more than friends stopping by to hang out. 

He wrestles the thoughts back into lockdown and instead focuses on the game. He’s always been good at poker, even before he was Captain America, and soon he has both Clint and Bucky on the back foot. Bucky is more careful, but Clint is suddenly being utterly reckless and very soon he’s down to his last three matchsticks and Steve is pretty sure that the hand he has is utter shit. 

Clint looks at his cards, towards the pile of matchsticks in the middle of the coffee table, at Bucky, and then back at his cards. And then he holds up a single finger in a ‘wait’ gesture, lays the cards down on the arm of the couch, and reaches down and starts unlacing his shoes.

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky says as Clint kicks his shoes off and then drops them onto the coffee table.

“Get your shoes off of my coffee table,” Steve says half-heartedly.

“Take it or leave it,” Clint says, and he’s ignoring Steve and looking straight at Bucky. Bucky meets his gaze, then looks down at his cards, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

“I think I’ll raise it,” he says, and he puts his cards down. He doesn’t look away from Clint as he slowly stands up, and then his hands go for his belt.

It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to snap ‘Bucky, no,’ but the words won’t come. He just watches, dry-mouthed, as Bucky pulls his belt buckle open and then pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans, a soft slither of worn leather.

“Now you’re talking,” Clint says, and there’s something wicked in his eyes as he watches Bucky drop his belt on top of Clint’s shoes. “Cap?”

Steve’s brain re-engages and he suddenly remembers where he is, who he’s with, and how this is a  _ terrible  _ idea. “You two have lost your minds,” Steve says shortly, feeling the back of his neck heating. “We are not playing strip poker.”

“We’re not?” Bucky says, feigning surprise and looking down at himself. “Then why the fuck am I taking my clothes off?”

“Come on, Rogers,” Clint says, putting his socked feet up onto the coffee table. “You in?”

“No,” Steve says, and tosses his cards down. “I’m not.”

Bucky looks at Clint, and something must be exchanged in that look because he just grins and twists around so he’s facing Clint more fully. “Suit yourself, grumpy,” he says. “Clint?”

And Clint grins right back and all Steve can do is sit there as the game escalates. He knows he should get up and leave - he’s got it all planned out how he’ll stand up and leave, go over to the Tower and vent to Tony, and Tony will probably offer him a drink and then vent about Pepper in turn, and Steve knows he’ll give him a place to crash-

But he doesn’t. He sits exactly where he is, drinking his beer and watching as the game continues, feeling oddly and somehow desperately like an intruder. His pulse gets quicker as Bucky and Clint continue to shed clothing like it’s something they do every day, so at ease in their own skins. Clint ends up barefoot and Bucky has lost shoes, socks and pants and Steve  _ knows _ he should get up and leave-

“Come on Barton,” Bucky is laughing. “Pay up.”

And Clint is simply standing up, and he’s reaching for his tie. “Alright, alright. Fuck, good job I picked today to wear a suit-”

“No, no - wait,” Bucky says and he stands up quickly, reaching for Clint’s hands and stilling them in place. Clint goes still and they’re barely six inches apart as Bucky meets his eyes and then very, very slowly pulls Clint’s collar up, sliding the tie up too so it sits against bare skin. Without breaking eye contact, he then painfully slowly starts to unbutton Clint’s shirt.

“I like you in the tie,” Bucky says as he pushes the shirt down off of Clint’s shoulders, and as Clint grins back suddenly Steve realizes that the look is too easy and familiar to be new-

The bottom drops out of his stomach. Hot anger and humiliation slice through him and he’s abruptly had enough.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, and he’s looking about for a way out without physically shoving them out of his way. “I get it, alright? I was a dick to both of you, but that’s no fuckin’ excuse for you two to show up and rub it in my face.”

“Finally, he speaks,” Bucky says, sounding bored, fingers dropping away from the buttons of Clint’s shirt. “Care to expand, Steve?”

“No,” Steve says jerkily. “Get out. You two go and fuck all you like, but leave me out of it.”

“Is that jealousy, I hear?” Bucky says, and Steve could punch him for how casual his tone is. He knew Bucky wasn’t happy with Steve’s decision to keep away, but he never thought he’d be goddamn  _ cruel  _ about it.

“I think it’s a lot of things,” Clint says, and he drops down to sit next to Steve. He’s very warm and smells faintly of beer and cologne, and Steve can’t deal with this, but Bucky is dropping down to sit on his other side, bare thigh pressed to Steve’s jean-clad one. His metal hand presses to Steve’s chest, with just enough pressure to convey  _ ‘stay right where you are.’ _

“Steve. We’re not sleeping together,” Clint says, and his voice is low and honest and Steve believes him but feels utterly wrong-footed by the admission.

“Sure as hell look like you were about to,” Steve says and it comes out bitter and far too telling-

“Not without you,” Bucky says calmly, and Steve’s thoughts come to an abrupt, stuttering halt.

Wait,  _ what? _

Clint leans in, takes advantage of the fact Steve is looking at Bucky to run the tip of his nose down Steve’s jaw, maddeningly light. Steve inhales sharply, and he’s turning towards Clint but a hand from the other side is setting on his thigh and  _ oh god. _

“We talked,” Clint says, words hot on Steve’s ear and making him shudder. “I know about your history, and Bucky knows about you and me. And we both miss you.” 

“Clint,” Steve says, his half-formed protest not even making it past his teeth.

“You’re miserable,” Bucky says, and he’s leaning in on the other side and gently pressing his mouth to Steve’s neck, wet and warm. “Tryin’ to do right by us, to not have to choose one of us over the other.”

And guilt lurches deep in Steve’s gut because that’s exactly what he was trying to avoid, because he can’t choose, and he  _ won’t _ , but Bucky’s mouth is still trailing over over his neck and Clint is kissing down his jaw on the other side and his breath is so unsteady and god, he doesn't know what to do with his hands and part of him still wants to walk away.

“What if we said,” Bucky breathes, his mouth inches from Steve’s. On his other side Clint is equally as close and one of them is going to kiss him and he doesn't know who-

“That you didn’t have to choose,” Bucky finishes, and he leans forwards, and his mouth barely brushes Steve’s before he’s turning away and kissing  _ Clint _ . Clint inhales sharply through his nose and his eyes flutter shut; it’s a chaste kiss, just a long press of mouths, which doesn’t explain why Steve’s pulse has skyrocketed, why he’s so hot and needy at the sight of them kissing right in front of him. Hell, Clint is practically in his lap, moving a hand to steady himself on Steve’s thigh.

Far too soon, Bucky is pulling away from Clint. “You don’t want to hurt either of us,” Bucky says, and Clint is still so close to him, breathing against the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s hand is on Clint’s neck, his thumb stroking against skin just above his tie. “So we found a solution.”

“It’s a good solution,” Clint murmurs, eyes still half-closed. He nods his head lazily, mouth brushing Bucky’s. His hand is still on Steve’s thigh, fingers gripping tightly.

Bucky snorts with laughter, gently catches Clint’s mouth again. The sound of Clint’s breath hitching in the back of his throat sends a shiver down Steve’s spine, arousal flooding warm and heavy in his groin. The kiss lasts for an age, another long, lingering press before Bucky pulls back, nudging Clint’s nose with his own.

“You tell us to stop, we will,” he says, and the words are for Steve but his eyes are still on Clint’s face.

“You aren’t ready,” Steve says helplessly. “Buck, what we had before-”

“You really think Clint would be here if I was after what we had before?” Bucky says, and he’s leaning back from Clint and  _ finally _ looking at Steve. Clint opens his eyes, bites his lower lip and watches Bucky hungrily. “Steve, I know. I get it, alright. But will you please just listen to me.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Clint murmurs. “Listen to him. The man knows what he wants.”

And Steve is rapidly running out of arguments, and Clint is still half slumped over his lap, and Bucky is looking at Steve and waiting. Steve feels completely out of sorts, unsure as to where his hands should be, face feeling far too warm.

“Clint,” Steve begins, helpless.

“I share pretty good when the occasion calls for it,” Clint says. “Even with this smart-mouth bastard. But if you want me to leave, I will.”

Steve stares at him. His heart is thudding strangely in his chest. He’s spent so long telling himself that he can’t have Bucky or Clint, that the idea of having both is overwhelming. God. He  _ wants. _

Wordless, he reaches up with both hands, sliding a palm onto the back of Bucky’s head and the other onto Clint’s. Swallowing, he pushes gently and he catches the edge of two triumphant smiles as they both go willingly, meeting in another kiss. This kiss is hotter, more energetic; Clint grabs hold of Bucky’s collar as he opens his mouth under Bucky’s, and Steve knows – fuck, he can  _ see _ – that Bucky’s got his tongue in Clint’s mouth. It’s as if Steve’s permission is all they needed to throw themselves in unreservedly, and now there’s no holding back.

Clint breaks away from Bucky, panting. He turns to look at Steve, who just shakes his head and pushes them together again. Clint laughs breathlessly. “Think the man has a plan,” he says to Bucky, kissing him hard. Bucky groans deep in his chest, and reaches out to grab hold of Steve’s shoulder with his free hand, steadying himself.

“Think he’s making it up as he goes along,” he replies, the end of the sentence wrecked as Clint kisses him again. 

Something fierce and needy is uncurling in Steve’s stomach, his hands still on the backs of their heads, keeping them together. It feels like a dark part of him is insisting that they are  _ his _ , both of them. It’s like jealousy but it’s not, it’s laced with a satisfied edge, like he’s constantly being hurt and soothed at the same time. 

Without really knowing why or even thinking about it, he slips one broad palm down the back of Clint’s neck,curls his fingers into his tie and pulls him back away from Bucky. He goes with a gasp, back bowing slightly as he keeps his balance. There’s a moment in which Steve feels a shock of panic at what just he’s done, but Clint just looks at him, panting slightly, eyes dark and hungry. He laughs, a short breathless sound, and leans in towards Steve-

Steve tightens his grip on the tie again, stopping Clint short before their mouths can meet.

“You playing hard to get, Rogers?” Bucky’s voice says, and his hand kneads over Steve’s shoulder. “A few minutes ago, you seemed to object to me and Clint getting it on without you-”

“Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Buck,” Steve says. Clint is breathing unsteadily, mouth a few scant inches from Steve’s. His fingers are still digging into Steve’s leg, tight enough to almost be painful.

“What, you gonna put me over your knee?” Bucky asks, and Steve can hear the damn smirk in his voice. “Hurry up and get involved, already. You’re killing me here.”

“Likewise,” Clint says, voice rough and uneven.

“Kiss him, Stevie,” Bucky pleads, and he’s leaning into Steve’s side to press his mouth to his jaw. “You know how good a kisser he is, come on, I wanna see it, kiss him-” 

And it’s more the fact that Steve wants to - god he wants to, but Bucky’s voice is dark and wicked, coaxing sin right next to his ear, and Steve can’t hold back-

He leans forwards and catches Clint’s mouth in a hard kiss. Over the thudding of his own pulse in his ears, he hears Bucky inhale sharply,  feels his fingers pressing into the meat of his shoulde r. Clint opens his mouth against Steve’s, lazy and slow and pleased, and Steve can’t help but surrender to it, kissing Clint back, electric thrills down his spine as Clint’s tongue dips into his mouth.

Heart hammering, he pulls back from Clint and then turns his face; Bucky is there in an instant, kissing Steve wet and messy. He’s rushing, all grabbing hands and breathless want, and Steve would tell him to calm down but he’s feeling almost the same.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Clint says fervently, and Steve groans. His head is spinning; it’s been so long since he had Bucky like this, and he tastes and feels exactly the same. He can’t make himself pull away, but he reaches out blindly to find Clint, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him up close. 

_ You shouldn’t be doing this, _ a voice in his head says. He tells it to shut the fuck up. He wants this and he never gets what he wants, and he’s going to be fucking selfish, if only for a night. 

Fingers are trailing down the fabric of his t-shirt, down across his abdomen, pushing the hem up and skimming over the sensitive skin beneath his bellybutton. He pulls back from Bucky to see who it is, and of course it’s Bucky’s hand that’s boldly sliding under his shirt. Steve shifts so he’s sitting on the couch properly again; Bucky settles in at his side and Clint mirrors his pose on the other side. On instinct, Steve lifts his arms to slide behind them, along the back of the couch and he’s promptly horrified at himself - what does he even look like, lounging around with a guy on either side, sitting back like he’s in charge and they’re attending to his every whim. He’s probably more worried about the way the embarrassment is quickly knocked aside by some heady sense of right, of power, like he should be the one in this position, like Bucky and Clint belong at his sides. 

He swallows hard, exhales slowly and lets himself sink into the feeling. He’ll pick up the pieces in the morning.  

“Look at you, mister bossman,” Bucky says, voice sly and wicked. “Sitting back after a hard day’s work, lettin’ us take care of you.”

Trust Bucky to hit the nail right on the head, to find those secret hidden thoughts with minimal effort whatsoever. Steve doesn’t know if he loves him or hates him more for it.

“Lucky it’s exactly what we want to be doing, right?” Clint says with a mischievous smirk, strong hand stroking over Steve’s chest. His eyes meet Bucky’s and Bucky grins, carefree and happy. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.”

Clint grins back and quickly leans over to kiss Bucky. Bucky goes eagerly, breath hitching as Clint bites playfully at his lower lip before pushing him back to settle at Steve’s side.  

And trust Clint Barton to be the one to know when something or someone has hit a nerve, effortlessly dismissing the negative thoughts that creep in unwanted. Same as with Bucky; Steve doesn’t know if he loves Clint for it or hates how vulnerable it can make him feel. 

Probably both.

He slides a hand down Bucky’s back; he had no intent with the movement but Bucky takes it as a cue. He shifts around and leans down, pulling Steve’s shirt up with his metal hand and pressing his mouth to Steve’s stomach, just next to his bellybutton. Steve groans and turns towards Clint, seeking him out for a kiss as Bucky continues to press wet lazy kisses over his stomach and abdomen. He can feel his dick pressing insistently against the zipper of his jeans, hard and getting harder.  

“Christ, Rogers,” Bucky says, voice broken. He lifts his head, grabs hold of the bottom of Steve’s shirt and pushes it up, right up under his chin. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Steve swallows roughly. “Missed you too, Buck.” 

“Told you,” Clint sing-songs and Bucky kicks at him. Clint grabs at his ankle but Bucky pulls free effortlessly. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bucky says, and he reaches out to grab Clint by his tie, dragging him down and kissing him. Clint is laughing against his mouth and Steve feels a surge of fondness for the both of them, mixed pleasantly with the lust he feels as he watches them. He can’t remain passive for long though, he pulls Bucky back by his shoulder and then reaches for Clint, pulling him over into his lap. Clint makes a noise of protest, hands coming to grab at Steve’s shoulders, knees settling on either side of Steve’s hips and sinking into the cushions of the couch. 

“I can’t exactly suck your dick with him sitting on it,” Bucky’s voice complains. Steve ignores him, distracted by Clint grabbing the bottom of his shirt where it’s still rucked up over his chest. He meets Steve’s eyes, fingers knotted in the fabric and waits. Steve is momentarily thrown, but then he gets it and nods; with the permission, Clint pulls it up over Steve’s head, leaving his hair rumpled. 

Clint slides his hands onto the sides of Steve’s neck. The way he’s looking down at him makes Steve shiver; pure focus and want, eyes intent and lips parted as he breathes heavily through his mouth. 

“You sure this is what you want?” Steve asks him. He knows  _ he  _ wants it, however messed up his head and heart are being, but he can’t let either of them do anything they don’t really want, not for his sake.

“I want you, and I want him, and I want you to stop asking,” Clint says, raising an eyebrow just enough to be a challenge. Part of Steve wants to apologize, but the bigger part of him is thinking awful terrible brilliant things about putting Clint in his place. 

He slides his hands under Clint’s legs, and in one swift motion stands, lifting Clint with him. Clint flails for a moment and then scowls at him, but it doesn’t carry much weight, not when he’s breathless and flushed, knees digging into Steve’s waist and arms winding around his neck.

“Get up here,” Steve says, still looking Clint in the eye even though he’s not talking to him. Just visible in his peripheral vision, Bucky slowly stands up, and Steve shifts his grip in Clint so he’s holding him up with one arm, reaching out towards Bucky with his other hand. 

“Shit, Steve,” Bucky says, sounding strangled. He takes Steve’s hand, holding on more tightly than Steve was expecting. He doesn't comment though, just folds his fingers around Bucky’s and starts to move. His heart is pounding in his chest and his stomach is tied up in a knot, adrenaline and fear and desire all twisting together.   

He strides from the lounge and along the corridor towards his bedroom. No going back now, he thinks as he shoulders the door open, and it settles with something that almost feels like relief.

His bedroom is as empty as it always is, bed neatly made in the center of the room. He wastes no time in striding forwards and tossing Clint onto the bed; he goes with a yelp and lands on his back in a sprawl of limbs, breathless.

“Ass,” he says to Steve, but he’s grinning.

“Call me names and you’ll be staying there by yourself,” Steve says, and behind him he hears Bucky’s breath hitch, feels Bucky press close to his back, tugging his hand free so he can run both over Steve’s sides and along his hipbones. His breath is hot on the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve shivers as he starts to mouth wet kisses along his shoulders.

“Won’t be as much fun on my own,” Clint says, and he slides a hand  down his chest, bare except for the tie he’s somehow still wearing, eyes on Steve’s as he trails his palm lower and lower, over his belt and down until he’s cupping the bulge of his dick through his pants.

“And you call me shameless,” Bucky groans into Steve’s neck, metal hand locking hard on his hip and the other sliding slowly down over Steve’s waist. “Lemme touch you, Steve, come on.”

Steve catches Bucky’s wrist. “Someone else wants touching first,” he says, and his voice is low and he can barely believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, the same shocked and embarrassed thrill from earlier running up his spine as he pulls Bucky from behind him and pushes him towards the bed. Bucky takes an eager step and then turns to look at Steve; he nods, and with the permission, Bucky is gone.

He climbs onto the bed, straddling Clint and grabbing his hands, pulling them away from his dick and pressing his wrists into the bed either side of his shoulders. Clint protests but the sound is lost as Bucky ducks his head down to kiss him, lowering his body until he’s lying flush on top of Clint, rolling his hips in a dirty grind that has Clint’s toes curling, back bowing as he tries to press up against him.

“Behave,” Bucky says to him, and Clint curses back, hitching an ankle over Bucky’s calf as Bucky carries on rocking against him, hips rolling back and forth, the muscles in his lower back and ass flexing.

“You behave,” Clint pants. “Steve, tell him.”

“Shut up,” Bucky replies, words trailing off into a groan. He lets go of one of Clint’s wrists to shove a hand underneath him, obviously palming at his ass. The moment his hand is free, Clint is trying to get rid of the clothes left over from the poker game, tugging at Bucky’s shirt and pushing at the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

“Both of you, shut up,” Steve says roughly, and he’s walking forwards on autopilot until his thighs bump the edge of the mattress. He swallows hard, but when he speaks his voice is steady and comes out as a clear command. “And strip.”

Bucky and Clint exchange a look and then they’re both scrambling to obey; Bucky kneels up over Clint, both of them pulling at his shirt. The rest of their clothes quickly follow suit, and Steve can’t help but notice the way Bucky carefully pulls Clint’s tie loose, lifting the loop of silk over his head. The oddly gentle moment is undermined immediately by Bucky shoving Clint back so he can wrestle his jeans and boxers off, yanking them down his legs like they’ve personally offended him.

“Easy,” Steve says, and he reaches out to touch Bucky’s shoulder. He can’t not. “He’s not a super soldier, Buck.”

“Fuck you with that all over again,” Clint says, and he kicks out of his underwear. His dick slaps up against his belly, and Steve’s mouth waters at the sight, aching to touch, to push Clint back and take him apart with his mouth.

Bucky wriggles up and around, and he presses his naked body to Steve’s side, arms draping around Steve’s neck. Steve lifts a hand to wrap around Bucky’s waist, palm hot against smooth skin.  

“Go on,” Bucky murmurs, hot and wicked. “I can see you looking. I know what you want, and I wanna see. You always looked good with my dick in your mouth, I wanna see how it looks from here.” He breaks off with a grunt as Steve’s arm tightens around his middle. Clint’s grin turns sly, and he leans back on his elbows, spreading his legs unashamedly.

It takes all of his willpower to stay where he is, instead of climbing onto the bed to take Clint’s dick in his mouth. He knows exactly how it would go: Clint’s thighs pressing against his ears, Clint’s hands clutching his hair, his hands on Clint’s ass, fingers stroking at his hole until it’s soft and fluttering and begging to be filled.

“Why don’t you get down here and do the job yourself?” Clint says to Bucky. “You keep running your mouth, bet it’s nice and hot.”

“Sweetheart, I want you to last more than half a minute,” Bucky replies. “You think Steve’s good, you ain’t seen nothing.”

“Yet?” Clint says, and Bucky grins back. 

“Yet.”

Steve laughs, a soft huff of sound that seems to catch them all by surprise. Bucky smiles, leaning up to kiss Steve dirty and hot. “See, this is fun,” he breathes against Steve’s mouth, and his fingers are pulling at Steve’s belt, tugging it open. “You deserve some fun, come on. Why’re you still dressed, huh? Come on, haven’t had my hands on that dick in seventy years, get it out.”

“Christ, Buck,” Steve curses as his belt buckle jangles, Bucky’s fingers now pulling at his fly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Come on,” Bucky coaxes, and Steve groans, eyes fluttering closed as Bucky slips his hand down into the front of his underwear, palm against his dick. Bucky’s hand shifts and his fingers tease at the head, pushing back his foreskin and smearing precome with his thumb. His hips jerk and he whines in the back of his throat, and it’s been too long-

He gasps as he feels fingers hook into the back of his pants and his eyes fly open; he hadn’t even heard Clint climb off the bed but now he’s kneeling behind him, tugging his pants down so the rain-damp denim pools around his ankles.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asks, voice curious. His fingers are still teasing at the head of Steve’s dick as he watches Clint tug Steve’s underwear down around his thighs.

“Just watch,” Clint says, voice rough. “You keep doing that.”

His hands slide up the back of Steve’s thighs, higher and higher until his fingers are cupping Steve’s ass, thumbs shoved between his legs, the tips just touching his balls. He ghosts a kiss over the small of Steve’s back and Steve cries out as he feels Bucky’s fingers dip lower, tangling with Clint’s thumbs as they explore. His head is spinning and he feels control slipping away from him, and that’s not what he wants, not what he needs. He reaches down and grabs hold of Bucky’s wrist, twists an arm around to grab hold of Clint’s hair. Clint cries out and Bucky gasps, and Steve’s heart is ready to burst out of his chest but it feels right, it feels so right.

“We’re doing this my way,” he says. “Buck, stop teasing and use your goddamn mouth. Clint, stop fucking showing off and get to it before I decide my paperwork is more interesting.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Clint says, and there’s no time to analyse the way  _ that _ makes Steve’s dick jerk in Bucky’s grip, because Clint obediently pulls his hands back, spreading Steve’s cheeks with his thumbs before leaning in and kissing him right on his asshole, wet and messy. Steve groans at the sensation, easing his grip on Clint’s hair and sliding his hand down to rest of the back of Clint’s head, not pushing but keeping him in place.

“Fucking hell, oh my god,” Bucky moans. “That’s filthy, oh my god. Clint, me next.”

“Get to it,” Steve murmurs breathlessly, and lets go of Bucky’s wrist to cup his jaw, pulling him in. Bucky goes willingly,eagerly, and Steve hadn't forgot just how much Bucky loves sucking dick, but seeing it all over again makes his dick twitch, balls drawing up tight. And of course Bucky’s still a goddamn tease, mouth hanging open as he slides his tongue over the head of Steve’s dick, pressing delicately against the slit before looking at up Steve with wide, innocent eyes.

“Thought I told you to stop teasing,” Steve grunts, and his eyes flutter shut as Clint licks at his ass with soft little kitten licks, barely there and certainly not enough. Dammit, Bucky is a bad influence. “Christ, if you two think you’re gonna get me off this way, you’re mistaken.” 

Oh and that’s it, so easy to goad them both. Bucky glares and then he’s sucking at Steve’s dick quick and fast. Steve can’t tear his eyes away, watching the stretch of Bucky’s lips around his shaft. It’s obscene, spit covering Bucky’s knuckles where he’s got his fingers wrapped around the base of Steve’s dick, his eyelashes a dark smear against his cheekbones. Steve guesses that Clint was probably equally as indignant, but he does what Steve wants and shoves his face hard into Steve’s crack, sucking and licking at his hole like he’s starving for it.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve groans, and he’s got a hand on the back of Clint’s head and a hand on the back of Bucky’s, and his hips are rocking back and forth as he struggles to push into both sensations. His head lolls back on his shoulders and he knows he’s panting loudly, but doesn’t give a fuck anymore. The realization of what’s happening, that he’s got his two best fellas on their knees for him, keeps surging hot and wicked in the bit of his belly. His imagination is going haywire, imagining pushing Bucky back and fucking into him as Clint carries on eating him out; imagining having Clint between him and Bucky, Bucky fucking his face as Steve fucks his ass; imagining leaning back on the couch with them both going down on him, kissing filthily around the head of his dick as he rests a possessive hand on each of their necks-

“Buck, I’m gonna, holy fuck I’m gonna come,” he manages to say, knees starting to shake. “Clint, harder, come on, come on.”

He pushes Clint’s face harder into his ass, and Clint probably can't even  _ breathe _ , but he just groans and carries on, shaking his head side to side like a dog as he works Steve open, and Clint’s tongue is up in him as he’s coming, oh  _ fuck _ -

He fists his hand in Bucky’s hair and shoves forwards so hard that Bucky almost gags, but he takes it and then some as Steve comes, sucking him through it and  _ swallowing _ , oh hell, Bucky never used to swallow. He pulls back with his eyes still closed, kissing the head of Steve’s dick and smearing come all over his mouth. He looks like utter filth, and Steve wants to keep him that way forever. Behind him, Clint is mouthing gentle kisses over Steve’s asshole as it twitches and flutters with with shocks of his orgasm. Groaning, Steve pushes him away, and Clint rises up on his knees to rest his forehead in the small of Steve’s back, hand holding onto his hips.

Panting, Bucky rests his forehead on Steve’s abdomen. His hands come up to rest over Clint’s. “Clint said you liked it when he swallowed,” he says, voice rough and wrecked. Steve feels like he could come all over again, shocked by the thought of Bucky and Clint talking about fucking him, about what he likes and wants.

“Get up here,” he says. “Both of you.”

He ends up still standing by the edge of the bed, Bucky and Clint both kneeling on the mattress in front of him, their arms wrapped around his waist, his shoulders, his neck. He kisses both of them, one after the other, over and over like he can’t stop. Even as he kisses Clint, Bucky is nuzzling at his jaw, and he can feel both their erections pressing insistently against his stomach and waist, leaving wet smears on his overheated skin. 

Not allowing himself to second guess, he slowly pushes them back and climbs onto the bed himself. Clint ends up right in front of him, but before he can worry, Bucky is slotting himself behind Clint, reaching around to hold onto Steve as he bites at Clint’s shoulder, his other hand slipping down Clint’s abdomen, his sticky knuckles bumping Steve’s belly.

“Alright?” he asks, and Clint nods jerkily, and Steve watches him push his ass back against Bucky in a devastatingly dirty sway, bending his knees slightly so he gets Bucky’s dick pushing right up against his asshole. 

“And I get called a fucking tease,” Bucky groans, leaning back and looking down so he can watch his dick sliding between the tight curves. Steve pulse skips; he know from experience what the view looks like. “Steve, sort him out.”

“I thought you were super soldiers?” Clint asks, still rubbing his ass back against Bucky. “Can’t keep up?”

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes with an arched brow. The message is clear:  _ you really gonna let him run his mouth like that _ ? Which is hypocritical of Bucky, but Steve’s too preoccupied to point that out. He surges forwards to kiss Clint, pushing him back and twisting around in a move too quick for Clint to counter; Steve ends up on his back with Clint lying on top of him. His arms are bent up and trapped between their chests and Steve presses his heels over Clint’s calves, pinning his legs in place.

“Nice, but you can’t fuck me at that angle,” Clint manages to retort, though he sounds like he’s had the air knocked out of him.

“No,” Steve says, brushing his mouth against Clint’s. This time he’s anticipating the deep, shameful thrill in the pit of his belly as he murmurs into Clint’s ear, “But Bucky can.”

Clint’s mouth falls open. Grey eyes meet blue, and Steve doesn't drop his gaze as he slowly drags Clint’s legs apart using his heels, wider and wider so that the intent is unmistakable. Clint shudders, a full body thing, dropping his forehead to Steve's collarbones. “Yeah,” he says mindlessly. “Yeah.”

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks, his eyes glued to Clint’s ass. 

“Just don’t hurt him,” Steve says, and Clint growls and tries to twist free.

“Fuck you. Barnes, give me your best shot.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, half a warning.

“I’m not gonna,” Bucky insists, and shuffles forwards on his knees. He leans down, presses his mouth to the back of Clint’s thigh, tongue smearing against tanned skin. Clint jerks in Steve’s arms, wriggling and trying to rub his dick against Steve’s stomach. “Clint, trust me.”

“Trust you to not go easy,” Clint bitches, and Steve responds by letting go of him with one hand, reaching down to sharply smack his ass. Clint surges against him and then settles, panting and looking at Steve with shock and need. He moans as Bucky reaches out to press metal fingers against the handprint Steve has just left, burying his face in Steve’s neck again.

“You’ll get what you’re given,” Steve says. “You bitch and the next one’ll be harder and not nearly as much fun. Bucky, get to it.”

His pulse is picking up again, watching as Bucky raids his nightstand to find lube, hand warm with a faint sting. He wants to do it again, wants to spank Clint’s ass until it’s red all over. He doesn’t dare, he can barely believe he did it once, let alone threatened Clint with more. He doesn't feel ashamed though; these two have taken any shame he felt and tossed it away as easily as they did his protestations earlier in the night.

Bucky doesn’t waste any time. He kneels between Clint’s splayed legs, running lubed fingers down his spine. Clint is shuddering against Steve, his legs straining against Steve’s hold. Sometimes it’s like he wants to object and close his legs, and then he seems to change his mind and pushes the other way, wordlessly asking Bucky to get the fuck on with it.

“Look at me,” Steve commands. “Clint. Look at me.”

Clint lifts his head just as Bucky slides a finger into him, and Steve’s watches as his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back. God, they’re making him crazy, all higher brain function lost as he watches Bucky roughly fingers Clint, pinning his ass down with his metal hand splayed against his tailbone. 

“Harder,” Steve says, and Bucky obliges, using enough force to rock Clint against Steve’s chest. He does something with his fingers which has Clint gasping, and Bucky looks right at Steve as he shoves his fingers in again and again, the sound wet and filthy. He’s biting his lower lip, chest shining with sweat and heaving as he breathes.

“Tell me when,” Bucky says, his eyes sliding to Clint’s ass. “Fuck, I wanna-” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just pulls his fingers free and leans down to bury his face in Clint’s ass, licking at him just like Clint did to Steve earlier. Clint shouts out loud, spasming in Steve’s grip, and Steve pushes his legs down harder into the mattress.

“You can take it,” he tells Clint, and Clint nods, eyes screwed shut. “Bucky, stop.”

Bucky pulls back, wiping his mouth with his hand. He looks slightly guilty, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Gentle,” Steve says. “Go as gentle as you can. Show him what it feels like when he teases.”

“Oh, fuck,” Clint gasps. Bucky grins roguishly and leans back down, propping himself on an elbow and pulling Clint’s ass apart with his hands. He licks at Clint’s hole like he licked at Steve’s dick earlier; tongue pointed and flicking delicately. It sends Clint wild; he curses and gasps, trying to shove back into Bucky’s mouth. Steve knows full well how much Clint likes being fucked fast and hard, so this is an exquisite form of torture for him.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Clint pleads. “Steve, please.”

And even though Bucky is the one about to fuck him, it’s Steve he’s begging. For that, Steve kisses him slow and gentle, and then nods at Bucky. Looking like he can barely believe his luck, Bucky pushes himself back up and clambers in-between Clint’s pinned legs. He takes himself in hand, braces his other hand up near Clint’s shoulder. He bites his lip as he eases forwards, nudging Clint’s hole with the tip of his dick.

“Do it,” Steve says. “Fuck him.”

Clint ‘s breath catches on a gasp as Bucky pushes forwards, and Steve fights a helpless moan of his own, watching the way Bucky’s abs flex as he moves, the look on Clint’s face as Bucky pushes his dick right up in him. Steve kisses at Clint’s lax mouth, biting at his lip as a litany of ‘uh, uh, uh,’ spills from his mouth, each one punched out of him by a shove of Bucky’s hips. 

“Fuck me,” Bucky curses, rolling his hips hard. His head falls forwards, hair brushing Clint’s back. “Steve, he takes it better than you. Look at that ass. Made for it.”

“Thanks,” Clint manages to say, and the smirk playing around his mouth turns into a look of pure bliss as Bucky retaliates by shoving forwards even harder. Steve takes Clint’s jaw between his fingers, breathing into his open mouth and licking at his bottom lip.

“Come on,” he coaxes, and he spreads Clint’s legs even wider. “I know you can come like this, come on.”

“Shit, you keep talking like that and I’ll come,” Bucky pants. He slaps the side of Clint’s hip. “Come on Clint, tighten up sweetheart, I’m so close-”

He breaks off with a cry, hips turning frantic as he chases his orgasm. Clint is shaking, literally shuddering from head to toe, and Steve feels his whole body tense and then he comes, smearing his release hot and sticky into Steve’s belly, eyes flying open to meet Steve’s, desperate and wanting-

Steve crushes their mouth together, just as Bucky’s breath catches in a sob and he grinds his hips forwards as he comes, spilling wet and hot right up in Clint’s ass. The noise Clint makes is bone deep satisfaction, lifting his hips to push back against Bucky and catching Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth before he collapses forwards over Steve.

“I got you,” Steve says, holding Clint tight and lifting his feet. He expects Clint to close his legs the moment he’s given the freedom, but he doesn’t. He just rolls his shoulders and back, making Bucky curse as he lifts his hips and rocks his ass back. Bucky twitches and then he’s pulling out, dick red and still half-hard. He rubs his metal hand over the back of Clint’s thigh and Clint grunts and bends one leg at the knee, hitching it up and probably exposing his swollen hole to Bucky’s gaze. Yeah, definitely exposing himself to that hungry look, judging by the way Bucky licks his lower lip and reaches out to press his thumb to Clint’s hole. Steve makes a weak, helpless noise which Bucky hears; he meets Steve’s eyes and then very deliberately lifts his thumb to his mouth and licks it.

Oh hell. If Bucky doesn’t fucking stop then Steve will not be held responsible for his - or his dick’s - actions. 

Luckily, Bucky seems fucked out enough to not want to tease Steve any further; he flops back onto his back and then reaches out blindly to pat Clint’s ass like some fucked up well done.

Clint snorts tiredly. “Wow,” he says roughly. “Your old boyfriend fucks like a porn star.”

Bucky makes an indignant noise, pushing up and swatting Clint’s ass with rather more force. “Well, your new boyfriend takes it like he’s being paid,” he says, and Clint sniggers into Steve’s chest before rolling off of him and onto his back. Steve watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest, turns his head to look at Bucky where he kneels on the mattress and runs both hands through his sweaty hair. It really hits him then, what he’s just done. He’s just gone to bed with the two people he swore not to go anywhere near, the two people he couldn’t - and wouldn’t - choose between. 

But then Bucky grins and climbs over Clint, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Clint laughs, and accepts the quick kiss that Bucky presses to his mouth, and Steve thinks that maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s not about choosing. 

“Get here, you two,” he says, and they both turn to him without pause, like flowers leaning up towards the sun. He beckons and pulls and pushes, and soon ends up exactly where he wants to be, lying back against his pillows with a warm body on each side of him. He curls his arms up around both their shoulders, the blanket pulled up over them, sweat and stickiness utterly disregarded.

“Oh man, that was good,” Bucky murmurs, nudging a knee over Steve’s thigh. “And I thought we were going to have to go to phase four.”

“What?” Steve asks absently, voice low. His heartbeat has almost returned to normal, a steady thud behind his ribcage that feels lighter than it has in years.  

“Phase four was gonna be convincing you to let us stay,” Clint , and he runs gentle fingers along Steve’s collarbone, lingering on an already fading bite mark. 

“Not that we would go even if you told us to,” Bucky says through a jaw cracking yawn. "I mean, we didn't break in and seduce you just to get kicked out without any cuddling."

Steve huffs, but he can’t be too annoyed. Not when Bucky is squirming ever closer and Clint is rolling onto his back with his head pillowed on Steve’s bicep just like he used to. The air smells of warm bodies and sex, and it fills Steve with a contentment that aches in a very different way to how it was before. 

“Yeah,” Clint says drowsily. “We planned for way more yelling and manly tears.”

Steve would roll his eyes, if they weren’t sliding shut. “You two are unbelievable,” he says.

“We know we are,” Bucky says, sounding unconcerned. “Don’t know why you stayed away, Rogers.”

“You know what?” Steve replies. “Neither do I.”


End file.
